when life gives you lemons
by tysunkete
Summary: Oneshot. Barakamon AU. Furuya is a pro calligrapher who retreats to an island to find inspiration for his writing style, but he finds other things-people, person- too. Or, in Miyuki's case: When life gives you Furuya Satoru. Furumiyu.


_Title:_ when life gives you lemons  
 _Fandom:_ Daiya no Ace  
 _Character/Pairing:_ Miyuki/Furuya  
 _Summary:_ Barakamon AU.

"Miyuki-san, you're very kind."

 _I am not_ , Miyuki thinks dazedly, swallowing as his throat goes dry when Furuya looks back up at him with those pretty blue eyes. _Fuck, I am really not._

Or, when life gives you Furuya Satoru.

 _Notes:_ everbad is to blame for this. Like, ten times over. The style is kind of all over the place, apologies. I was trying out characterization things and being not very satisfied with them lmao. There is a _great deal_ of reference from the anime, I think I've re-watched the series a billion times for this. I also got lazy at the end, pfttt.

P.S If you haven't watched Barakamon you are _greatly_ missing out, because sensei's internally screaming face is the best.

* * *

Furuya stands in a quiet corner, feeling uncomfortable in the formal suit he has to wear for the occasion. He fidgets with the glass of water he has in his hand, glancing towards the clock on the wall ever so often. It's not that he hates this type of meet and mingle stuff—he does, a little, but that's just because he's not good with crowds. Unfortunately since he's part of this particular calligraphy exhibition, it's expected that he shows his face until he's greeted the main organisers of the event. He shuffles a little more while glancing around; at 23, he's the youngest face in the entire room, with no one remotely near his age except maybe for a couple of agents or ushers. He's used to this, having won many calligraphy awards and showing at exhibitions from a very young age, but it doesn't ease up the awkwardness he always feels.

He doesn't see his own agent after watching his vicinity for a while, but he does notice an elderly old man staring at his calligraphy piece with a grim set of features. It's the director of the exhibition, so he figures he should say something, but before he does, the man speaks.

"For one still so young, your calligraphy is highly conformist."

Furuya freezes, thrown aback by the sudden criticism.

"I don't know if it's better described as copybook-style, or made simply to win calligraphy awards," the director continues, gaze still fixated on the inked characters thoughtfully.

"What's wrong with my calligraphy?" he demands, fingers curled into his palms.

His voice is quiet but somehow everyone around them hears it, and the hall goes startling silent.

Sure he's been hailed as a prodigy calligraphist since young but that didn't mean he can paint like he does without the numerous _years_ in his room alone practising and honing till the printed brush strokes looked beautiful. He _likes_ his calligraphy. All he's ever done is calligraphy and the calligraphy that made him who he is today is _that_ calligraphy—

Whispers start to arise the longer he glares at the elder man as if daring the other to say more. The director looks back at him, calm.

"Managing the hall for many years has given me a discerning eye. Your calligraphy," the director states. "Is just plain dull."

 _Dull._

Furuya tries to find some words to retort to that but he comes up with nothing. It's not something he hasn't heard before—but this is the first that he hears it in relation to his calligraphy, his beautiful and neat calligraphy that is the only thing of him that's interesting and of worth. His fists curl tighter and he takes a step forward, eyes gleaming. Without warning he rips off his piece from the board, crushing it viciously under his grip and stalks off towards the exit.

Everyone else stares at his retreating back, whispers getting louder.

"Hey, Furuya!" a voice yells after him but Furuya keeps walking out of the hall and down to the lobby of the gallery. "Furuya, oi!"

His agent, Kuramochi, catches him by the arm before he makes it fully out of the building. The other sighs exasperatedly, plucking the crumpled paper from his hand. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Let me go, senpai," Furuya mumbles and tries to tug his arm away, but Kuramochi holds fast.

"What the director said was harsh, but—"

"I'm leaving Tokyo."

Kuramochi pauses, confused by the sudden declaration. "…Why?" he asks warily.

Having been with Furuya's senior in high school and the calligrapher's agent when Furuya went pro meant many years between them to get used to Furuya's quirks, but there are times when Kuramochi knows he will never understand what goes on in the stoic boy's mind.

Furuya looks down at his feet. "…I need some space. To write again."

If he even can, that is.

Kuramochi eyes the quiet answer and the darkening aura of gloom around the calligraphist. "Okay," he sighs eventually, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Furuya is probably the most stubborn person he knows, and that's saying something. He isn't even sure whether Furuya's grandfather or mother will agree to this anyway.

"But you will continue your commissions and stay in contact. If you go MIA I will bust your damn ass, you got it?" he narrows his eyes, and Furuya gives a nod.

* * *

Seeing that Furuya is dead set on leaving, his grandfather eventually suggests an island near Kyushu where a small village lies to calm his thoughts. It isn't like Furuya had a place in mind—just somewhere away from Tokyo and from people who would recognise him—so he accepts, and finds himself exiting the Fukue airport the next week end. He only has a cabin luggage with him and the rest of his things should be delivered to his new house today. When he steps out from the airport exit however, the entire surrounding area is empty—no cars, no bikes, no people. He digs for the paper with instructions that his grandfather had written for him, which says to take a taxi to a particular location—Nanatsutake village—and the village chief Chris Takigawa will greet him there.

 _Taxi_ , Furuya blinks as he looks around the area again. It's completely empty, and he doesn't even know what number he can call to hail one. He decides to walk—not entirely sure if that's the right course of action, but there's nothing else he can do.

The heat is sweltering and it's even worse than back in Tokyo; the sun is bright and unforgiving, and within ten minutes Furuya stops for a break along somewhere on the high way that he was trudging on. Maybe he should've gone to Hokkaido which has a climate that suits his heat-prone deposition a lot better. But he's already here and he shouldn't complain—he's the one who agreed to come here, anyway.

After several more minutes of walking in silence, a transport tractor comes up from the road behind him, creaking and growling. When it comes up to where he is, a tanned older male stops the vehicle and tilts his head. The other has short black hair, brown eyes light enough to be amber and a serious but calm set of features.

"Going to the village?" the other asks with an accent he's never heard before.

Furuya nods.

"I can give you a lift for half the way."

Furuya looks at the stack of wheat bundles in the tractor. He decides it's much better than walking, and so he climbs on and sits in the back.

"Yuki Tetsuya. It would've taken more than half a day to walk to the village," the older male says in passing when he starts the vehicle up again.

"Thank you," he tilts his head down, and the older male nods.

Neither of them say anything more down the ride down the highway, and the tractor engine is too loud for them to talk anyway. They pass by the sea and Furuya stares at it, starting to feel drowsy, and he nearly falls asleep when the tractor stops suddenly.

"This is as far I can take you," the elder says. "I need to get to the fields."

Furuya climbs off with his luggage, swaying a little on his feet from the heat. "Um, thank you very much, Yuki-san."

The other gives him a short smile before starting up his vehicle again. Furuya watches him go for a while before dragging his luggage down the road for the second time. _Somehow_ he makes it—his shirt is totally drenched in sweat by the time the walks down a dirt path to a living compound that he _thinks_ it's his—

"Furuya-san?"

"Furuya-san! It's Kijima Shipping!"

Ah, that's definitely his. Furuya rounds the corner just in time to see the delivery service employee knocking on the wooden sliding door of his to-be house. The employee greets him with a wide smile and he signs for his things. He looks at the number of boxes—he's sure his mother had packed more things than actually needed—but before he can ask for help to bring it in, the employee thanks him and trots off happily after the job is done. Furuya looks up at the hot sun and then back at the boxes. He starts to think this might be the most impulsive thing he's ever done, but when he closes his eyes he hears: _your calligraphy is just plain dull_ —

"You've finally arrived."

Furuya blinks his eyes open, startled. An older male with sharp cut handsome features smiles warmly at him.

"…Chris…-san?" he greets, unsure.

The village chief comes forward with his hand stretched out holding a key. "You've come a long way from Tokyo. Here's your house key."

Furuya takes it. "Is there no bus, or trains or anything here?"

"A bus stops by once a day," Chris tells him. "You can call for a taxi, but there aren't many of them. If you need to go to town, feel free to borrow my car."

"I see," he replies. "I would like to be on my own, for a while. To write."

"Sure."

In the meanwhile, Furuya struggles with the front door lock, and eventually Chris takes pity on him and takes the key. He tries not to feel too embarrassed when the door slides open easily after an easy turn of the key. When he slides the door open, he isn't sure what exactly he expects, but there are cards scattered on the floor of the tatami, as well as pillows and plastic wrappers of candy. It feels strangely lived-in somehow, for a house that is supposed to be empty.

"Um, there's nobody living here, right?"

Chris nods. "That's right."

Furuya stares at it for a moment more before entering, taking a look around. It's old and he spies some creepy crawlies scuttling in the corners. The toilet is a pit toilet, and there is a type of machine in the bathroom that Chris explains is a balanced-flue bath heater. _How inconvenient_ , Fuurya thinks, where in Tokyo everything is electric and feels much more _sanitary_ —but he can deal this, he's not that much of a spoiled city brat.

When he gets to the kitchen, there are pots and pans placed haphazardly on the floor, another suspicious hint that there _is_ someone living here. The cupboards under the sink suddenly rattle, causing him to step back in alarm.

"Chris-san?" he calls for help in quiet panic, but before the village chief can answer, the cupboards slide open and a small child crawls out.

Furuya takes another step back.

The young boy pushes himself up, wide smile and brown eyes gleaming brightly. "You found me! Wait—who are you?!" the kid scrunches his nose in curiosity as he stares up at Furuya.

"Eijun," Chris calls, tone slightly reprimanding. "Don't be rude."

"Chris-ojii-chan!" The boy—Ejiun—perks up again, bounding to Chris's legs.

"I'm terribly sorry. He's made a…base of sorts here," Chris explains, smiling wryly as he holds the boy by the sleeve. "I told him to leave, but…"

"Hey, mister!" Eijun pouts, tiny hands gripping one of Chris' pants leg. "You play baseball?"

Furuya blinks. "Um." He knows the rules of baseball but he hasn't played it in years, does that qualify?

"Eijun," Chris bends down such that he's on eye level with the boy. "This man is a master calligrapher. Address him as 'sensei', okay?"

"Ooh!" Eijun throws his hands up, elated. "He's a baseballer who can also do calligraphy!"

Chris hold his patient smile. "No, not like that—"

"Excuse me," Furuya interrupts, eyeing the child with mild dislike. "Can he please leave?"

At this, the younger puffs his cheeks and makes a pout, ready to say something in return, but Chris pats the other on the head. "Eijun, come on. Let's give sensei his space, hmm?"

Furuya bows in thanks when the village chief ushers the boy out who throws back curious glances at him the whole while. He sighs when he's truly alone after, staring at the cards and pillows on the tatami mat. He clears them and carries some boxes in—his calligraphy tools, the most important of all, and opens up a low table with his equipment laid out nicely.

He dips his brush in the thick ink, closes his eyes and reminds himself that he's not in Tokyo anymore—the musty smell of the house tells him that most of all, and readies himself for the first stroke. He hasn't written anything since he tore his piece from the exhibit that week, he isn't even sure how his strokes will come out now.

But he's still a pro; and Kuramochi will strangle him if he can't even do commissions, so he braces himself as the brush tip meets the white paper. But the moment that his brush is down and ink seeps into a paper, a weight pushes on his right shoulder, causing a huge ink blot to drag on the sheet.

"I wanna write too!"

Furuya freezes when Eijun pulls on his shirt at his shoulder, shaking him in excitement.

"How did you get in here?" Furuya demands; he was _sure_ he locked the front door.

Eijun ignores him and grabs at his brush, which he tries to hold out of reach, but the boy clambers over him and plucks it off his fingers. Furuya rushes to catch the ink slab before hits the floor when Eijun pushes it out of the way and proceeds to draw bold lines on the white paper.

 _I can't write calligraphy like this_ , Furuya sours. He's not particularly fond of kids—especially hyperactive kids.

"Look! Pretty good, right?" Eijun crows as he lifts up the paper, still wet from the ink.

Furuya sees the words _Sawamura Eijun_ scrawled across it.

"Did I say you could write anything?" he mutters, but he kneels to sit down.

"Don't be so uptight, mister Ichiro!"

Furuya furrows his eyebrows. "I'm not Ichiro Suzuki-san," he says plainly.

Eijun regards him with extreme suspicion when he says that. "Then, who are you?"

Furuya can't tell if all children are like this or it's just this one. He takes the brush from Eijun, pushing him away lightly so that he can sit at the table again. He writes his name in easy strokes on another sheet.

"Furuya Satoru," he states when he holds it out for the younger to see.

Eijun takes the paper from him, staring at it intently.

"This is like a middle schooler's pen name!" he declares finally, and Furuya resists the urge to throw one of the floor pillows flat into the child's face. "But your calligraphy is real good, sensei!" Eijun continues, propping himself on the elbows as he lies stomach flat on the floor to poke at the ink characters Furuya has written. "It's just like how my teacher at school writes."

 _Just like a copy-book._

Furuya swallows, snatching the paper back roughly.

"Don't talk like you know anything," he mutters, pushing himself up to storm out of the house.

He ignores the yells from Eijun as he shuts the front door behind him and walks down the first dirt path he sees. Several minutes later he's sweating like hell again, and finds an edge of the road overlooking the sea to sit down. The breeze is also warm. Furuya lowers his gaze to his feet. He needs to get himself together—that's why he wanted to leave Tokyo, isn't it? He can't keep getting upset whenever someone hits the bull's eye.

What's wrong with being faithful to the fundamentals? He wonders idly, frown deepening. They are what makes calligraphy beautiful, he's not wrong about that. So _what_ is he missing?

He nearly lets out a quiet yelp when small arms suddenly wrap around his neck from behind. Eijun looks contrite as he wiggles his index fingers together, looking at his feet.

"I'm sorry!" the little boy yells, loud enough for anyone down the road to hear.

Furuya blinks slowly. "…You're…not at fault," he mumbles. "…I'm sorry I said that too."

"Hmm, say what, sensei?"

Furuya keeps quiet and reluctantly offers a hand when he stands up. "Let's go back."

He hides his grimace when Eijun clutches both sticky palms onto his hand, smiling widely. It's a short walk back considering he didn't go very far in this heat. He glances at the bubbly child bouncing a few steps in front of him chattering about something that he has tuned off a couple of minutes ago, and also at the sea in the distance washing gently ashore. There is little time to savour that peaceful image, because once he nears his house, some sort of noisy chattering fills his ears.

"You're back."

The villager—Yuki—who first gave him the lift in the morning gives him a wave when he comes closer.

"Ooh, captain!" Eijun yells in excitement, rushing towards the other.

 _Captain?_ Furuya blinks in confusion, but he lets it slide, assuming it's one of the kid's quirks.

"Better hurry in or we'll open your boxes without you," Yuki continues, and Furuya picks up his pace.

"Why?"

"You're moving in, right? We've come to pitch in."

"...We?" Furuya then realises the noisy chatter is from a number of other villagers standing outside his door.

He jolts when a hand pats his back roughly from behind.

"From Tokyo, eh?" a gruff looking man with dyed blonde hair nods as he walks past. "That's a long way."

Another with him a younger man with closed eyes and a fixed smile breezes past him. "We'll be letting ourselves in."

"…Uh, okay," Furuya trails off uncertainly.

"Come on, sensei!" Eijun shouts, running up to grab him by the hand, but the boy pauses and jumps gaily when he sees some other figures walking up towards them. "Harucchi!"

Another child around Eijun's age walks hand in hand with—Furuya supposes, his mother—who looks a lot like the man with the closed eyes earlier.

"Sensei, this my friend, Harucchi!" Eijun declares loudly, hugging the other boy by the neck.

Harucchi's fringe is too long to let his eyes be seen, and with the way the boy ducks in embarrassment, Furuya guesses he would never see it. Furuya stares at him and Harucchi lifts his head a tiny bit—for a few seconds, they just stare at each other. This child, Furuya decides at the end of it, is okay.

He's being pulled away by Eijun's boundless energy into his own house, where more villagers he hasn't met are already carrying his boxes in and unpacking them. He bows at each of them uncertainly, quietly directing where some of his things should go—it would've been a few days' worth of effort if he had to clean up and unpack by himself, but by the end of the night, his things are all neatly arranged and it actually feels like a place he can call _home_.

He doesn't smile when he sees them off—he's never really smiled at things, but he feels warm when Eijun grins widely and yells, "See you tomorrow, sensei!" down the path before they all leave.

It's a strange feeling, with his fingers twitching; his feet moves back into his house and to his room before he knows it. He grabs his largest paint brush and drags out the biggest sheet of paper he has, tacking it to the wall. Without really thinking about it, he dips the whole head of the brush into ink and splatters the first stroke roughly across the paper, arm moving whenever it takes him to.

He's not really sure what he's writing but it feels _good_ , and several minutes later he sits back, panting a little. Ink is splattered over his clothes and face and the floor, as he stares up at the one single character he's written, the first since that day at the exhibit.

暖

* * *

Not many people move to this village—none, if Miyuki recalls correctly—which is why the latest hot gossip is all about this pretty boy master calligrapher Furuya Satoru. Miyuki isn't too hyped up about it since he's sure the city boy will discover how pampered his life was before he made the drastic decision to move to the middle of nowhere. That being said, he hasn't met the other since he's been out at sea trying to reel in as much fish as they can while the net fills; he had been rinsing off his boat instead of flexing more strength to help the calligrapher move his things during that evening.

A week goes by where the other people in his community realises he hasn't dropped by to at least introduce himself—

From Maezono: _Don't be an ass, Miyuki_.

From Ryo-san: _He's a nice boy. A bit of an airhead_. _*smiles*_ _You'll like him._

From Chris-san, their village chief: _Miyuki, you should cook him dinner._

Miyuki creases his eyebrows at him. "Why…?"

"You cook better than I do," Chris says, completely serious. "I'm sure he's sick of the champon I've been bringing the past week."

"You've been cooking his meals?" Miyuki blinks, incredulous. "What kind of service are you giving him? How old is he already?"

"It's not that he asked, it's just a favour of good will," Chris explains, which doesn't really explain anything. Free food for a _week_? "At least introduce yourself, Miyuki."

Because he respects their village chief despite how annoying the other's nephew can be, Miyuki sighs. "Alright, alright. I'll bring him dinner tomorrow."

…Which is exactly how he ends up standing outside Furuya's house with a bowl of kanitama the next evening. He has a sunburn on the edge of his shoulders and he's distracted by the low sting as he waits for the door to open after he gives it a few knocks. He hears a bit of shouting and footsteps from the inside but the door doesn't open, so he raps it again.

"Furuya-san?" he calls, or is he supposed to say 'sensei'? Oops. "Hello?"

This time the yells get louder though it's still muted across the door, and eventually the wooden plane slides open.

Miyuki has heard that this Furuya is quite good looking and tall, but he's still surprised with the other's height when Furuya—should be Furuya—stumbles towards him and promptly lands flat into him. Miyuki freezes warily, trying to hold the other up with one arm and not drop his bowl of kanitama when a smaller figure jumps straight onto Furuya's back.

"Miyuki Kazuya!" Eijun crows at him, hands gripping the back of Furuya's shirt tightly to cling to him. "What are you doing to sensei?!"

"Trying not to fall, what's that!" Miyuki snaps, eye twitching. "Get off him, you're heavy!"

Eijun bares his teeth at him—that is so not cute, Miyuki huffs—but Eijun does clamber off.

"Take this and don't drop it," he instructs, handing the boy the bowl of kanitama. "Don't eat it either," he adds as an afterthought. "It's dinner for…sensei."

Eijun clutches the bowl in his arms, looking up. "What's wrong with sensei?"

 _How would I know_ , Miyuki thinks exasperatedly, he just got here, but he somehow manages to pull Furuya up and looks at the face. It takes a few seconds to realise that he's staring, because wow the rumours has not done the other justice—pale skin, long lashes, pretty face, just a couple of years younger than he is; this is totally the look of a stylish city boy. A few more seconds and he concludes that Furuya has passed out from either exhaustion (those dark circles under his eyes) or the heat. Miyuki isn't sure if he really wants to know what Furuya has been doing, perhaps aggravated by the hyper ball of Eijun—though, _he's_ the one out at sea the whole day, and he isn't dead yet.

He props Furuya up and drags him into the house, laying the other down. He makes Eijun fan the poor calligraphist with a makeshift cardboard, idly watching the sleeping figure in the meantime. _He's not used to country life yet, huh_ , Miyuki thinks, face on his palm. He takes the time to take a look around as well, where the walls and floor are scatted with papers of calligraphy writing, some of he's sure belongs to Eijun.

"Miyuki Kazuya!"

"How many times must I remind you to address your elders properly?" Miyuki sighs at Eijun, but he does raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"Does writing make people die?"

"Huh?"

"Sensei is always like this at this time of the day," Eijun says, rocking back and forth on his feet. "He's been writing a lot of stuff."

"It's probably because you're bothering him so much," Miyuki says with a grin, and Eijun scowls at him.

"Am not! Sensei writes a lot, I'll show you!"

Miyuki scrambles to his feet when the child runs off towards a corner, pushing the sliding door aside.

"Hey, don't just go into people's room!" Miyuki hisses, but he pauses when he sees what's inside the room.

Compared to the writing outside, there is no comparison to the mass inside. There is so much calligraphy scattered around that Miyuki can't even see the tatami mat anymore, nor the walls where paper is haphazardly taped. Okay, that's… _a lot_ of writing, and it's only been what, a week?

Eijun rummages at one of the pieces on the floor and picks it up, squinting at it. "Sensei says he still can't write anything good even after writing all this. Sensei says has no talent, even after writing lots, he thinks it's not enough."

Miyuki blinks, staring at the large kanji characters on some: _perseverance, upmost, determination_.

"I think sensei's writing is really pretty, but he doesn't think so."

Huh.

Miyuki gestures for Eijun to come out from the private quarters. "…Are you sure it's not because you're too noisy and are distracting him?"

Eijun frowns at him, sticking his tongue out. "Fight me, Miyuki Kazuya!"

"We both know who would win, won't we?" Miyuki smirks.

Eijun would hiss at him, but there is a soft groan coming from the calligraphist who sits up slowly. Miyuki shifts closer as Eijun tugs at Furuya's sleeve.

"Sensei, you're alive!"

"I…I," Furuya mumbles, pressing a palm on his forehead. "What happened?"

Miyuki tilts his head at him. "Do you have water?"

"In the kitchen," Furuya answers softly, blinking more awake.

The calligraphist gazes at this new occupant in the room, following the other's figure which disappears and appears from the kitchen with a glass of water in hand.

"Drink. Not everything at once, but slowly," Miyuki instructs, and Furuya follows obediently.

"Better?"

"Thank you," Furuya says eyes never leaving Miyuki's face. "Um, who are you?"

"Miyuki Kazuya," Miyuki grins. "I haven't come by to say hi, so here I am. Oh, I brought your dinner instead of Chief. It's kanitama."

Something in Furuya's expression changes, though Miyuki can't tell exactly _what_.

"Kanitama?"

"Uhh, yeah. It's a Hokkaido dish—"

"Miyuki-san," Furuya starts quietly, so intense that Miyuki freezes. "Thank you. I'm sorry to have you do this for me."

"It's—uh—it's fine," Miyuki manages, heat rising up his neck involuntarily.

Shit, he doesn't know why he's feeling a little warm under his shirt, but it has something to do with the way Furuya's blue eyes gaze him intently. Wait, isn't he supposed to say something else?

"Actually," Miyuki begins. "This is the last time we'll bring you food. Chris-san won't say it, but you should be able to take care of yourself, can't you?"

Furuya flickers his gaze to the floor. "Well, I…I can't cut vegetables very well," he mumbles, looking away. "But I understand. I'm sorry."

 _Fuck, that's cute,_ Miyuki thinks with sudden alarm when the calligraphist ducks his head. Miyuki coughs internally and tears his gaze away to look at something else, and rolls his eyes when he sees Eijun reaching for the kanitama bowl.

"Hey, I told you it's not for you!" he sighs exasperatedly and slaps the outreaching hand.

"Ehhh, but I'm hungry!"

"You have your own food at home!"

While Miyuki bickers with a child five times younger than he is, Furuya obtains chopsticks from somewhere and takes a bite of the dish.

"Miyuki-san," Furuya says, and even though it's quiet, both Miyuki and Eijun pause in their nonsensical argument. "This is amazing."

Miyuki _knows_ he's good at cooking, but it's always nice to hear that it is. Though something about the _way_ Furuya says it, so _sincere_ and _grateful_ , causes his chest to feel a _little_ tighter than usual.

"It's nothing much," he chuckles, but Furuya shakes his head, actually setting the chopsticks down to look at him straight in the eyes.

"No. It is. Really amazing."

Miyuki swallows, mouth running dry on its own. _Fuck, he's so cute,_ blares repeatedly in his head. Oh fuck, since when was he ever this _easy_?

"Okay. I," he manages amidst his scrambled internal panic. "I can bring food when I have leftovers," he says, going for casual. "But you have to pay me back in favours."

Furuya nods immediately. "What would you like, Miyuki-san?"

Miyuki reins his impulse to say something _really terrible_ —but he cannot scare this poor boy off on the first day. "I'll think of something," he says, smile easy.

He fakes a sigh and stretches his arms after, saying something about going back to rest up for the night, and doesn't look back when he takes his leave from Furuya's house, hands in his pockets as he walks down the dirt path towards his own home. And then Miyuki remembers the seemingly genial smile Ryo-san had given him and it suddenly hits him all too clear.

 _You'll like him._

Oh my god.

He.

Has a crush.

* * *

Miyuki refuses to say anything to Ryo-san who keeps the same smile as the other has for _years_ on his face while they're both out at sea. He refuses to acknowledge that he's been _outdone_ , how preposterous, although he knows if there was anyone in their community who could ever trip him up, it was probably Ryo-san. Still, it suddenly feels like his world has been turned upside down with just that one meeting—Furuya was supposed to be the outsider that he shouldn't really care much about while he went on with his own life, but now he keeps thinking of that cute face and quiet demeanour with the large question mark on _why_ he's so attracted.

Maybe it's because it's been too long since he's liked anyone in this small community. Maybe he's seen the same faces for too many years and Furuya is a change greatly welcomed. Maybe he's sexually frustrated as a by-product of point number one and two. Or maybe he's just a terrible person who can't resist wanting to do _something_ to such a polite and innocent boy.

He lets two days pass so that it doesn't _feel_ like he's desperate—of course, he's a bit paranoid that Ryo-san is watching him whenever they part ways after the day's work—before he packs up a dish to bring over during the evening. He raps on Furuya's door when he arrives.

"Hey, I brought meat and potato stew," he calls, and doesn't expect the door to slide open immediately.

Furuya, doesn't look half-dead like the other time, but he does look tired. He blinks at Miyuki with a kind of wide eyed surprise. "Miyuki-san."

Miyuki nods at the greeting, but his attention is drawn more towards Furuya's hands which have all his fingers with plasters wrapped around them. "…What did you do to your hands?"

Furuya looks at his hands as though he doesn't remember why it's like that, but at the same moment Eijun walks out from the kitchen carrying a bowl.

"Sensei! What do I do with these blood-soaked onions you cut?" the child asks, but when the boy notices Miyuki standing outside, he narrows his eyes. "Miyuki Kazuya!"

"Must you always call me like that?" Miyuki huffs.

But then he looks again at the bowl Eijun is holding, and then back at the calligraphist who refuses to look at him with a sort of gloomy aura arising.

 _Oh my god._

"Furuya," Miyuki begins, trying not to laugh. "I'll bring you food from now on."

Furuya looks up immediately. "Are you sure?"

"We can't have you hurting your hands, right?" Miyuki grins. "They're precious after all."

"…Thank you," Furuya mumbles, flicking his gaze to his hands.

Miyuki isn't lying, is he, since the calligraphist relies on his hands for a livelihood, but he's hopes his tone somehow comes across a _bit_ less flirty than he intended. My god, he has worse lines on the tip of his tongue but he retrains himself.

"Miyuki-san, you're very kind."

 _I am not_ , Miyuki thinks dazedly, swallowing as his throat goes dry when Furuya looks back up at him with those pretty blue eyes. _Fuck, I am really not._

* * *

Writing is slow business.

Furuya runs out of ink sometime in the weeks after and has to grind some—the store had run out of it, apparently since the middle-school kids have penmanship homework for summer vacation. It's a wasted trip back and forth in the heat, but Furuya meets the kind lady running the store and her cat, which he makes good acquaintance with. He hopes that Kuramochi won't be too angry by the time he grinds enough ink to finish his commission, but while he's getting his hands dirty, Eijun appears beside him holding up a bottle of ink proudly.

"Sensei! For you!"

He doesn't even question how the kid makes it past his locked door anymore. Maybe there's no point locking it, to be honest.

"…Where did you get that?" Furuya asks warily, though he's grateful.

"Chris-ojii-chan said you can use ours!"

"Thank you," he says, wiping his hands on an ink stained cloth.

Furuya takes the bottle and holds it close to his chest before hesitantly patting Eijun on the head. He's gotten a little bit better in dealing with Eijun—also since Eijun, for some reason, likes to hang around him, he's practically forced to learn that indulging the child will earn him obedience, but indulging too much will earn him a workless day. He manages to write his commission piece to a satisfactory standard by the evening. Perhaps his serious demeanour when absorbed in his work is a turn off to Eijun, because the boy leaves him to it and says something about going to catch bugs at some point between. He's hungry and exhausted by the time he sets his brush down, and like a god send, a voice calls from outside.

"Furuya, open up. It's me."

Miyuki-san.

Furuya pauses when Miyuki starts chuckling the moment he opens the door and their eyes meet—Miyuki actually throws his head back and _laughs_ , and for a fleeting second Furuya thinks that it is a really beautiful sound. It must've been his confused expression, because the other finally stops and stretches his lips into a wry smirk.

"You have ink all over your face," Miyuki explains, and then looks pointedly at Furuya's overalls. "And your clothes."

There are little ink handprints all over his clothes, and when he stretches his neck to look at his own back he also sees that those handprints splatter all the way to his pants— _that kid_ , Furuya stares at the ground solemnly.

"You should have known something was up when he left you alone," Miyuki says, amused. "Why don't you wash up before you eat?"

When Furuya comes back after he had washed his face and changed into clean clothes, he joins Miyuki at the low table. Miyuki is curiously flicking through the calligraphy he's written in the afternoon, though the other just smiles and sits back when he arrives. Furuya notices it first when he first woke up the other time—the way Miyuki's features work, the tanned skin, confident demeanour, the sharp eyes behind rectangle glasses. He…likes how Miyuki looks, and also the _food_ that Miyuki brings him; for many reasons, he likes this person around. It's unusual because he doesn't like people easily—most won't really talk to him and he has nothing to say in return, but Miyuki seems comfortable with sitting across him while he eats in silence.

"Miyuki-san, you don't have to stay," Furuya says when he's eaten half the bowl of katsu-don Miyuki had brought for him.

"What, are you kicking me out?" Miyuki raises and eyebrow, tone teasing. "Even after I made that for you?"

"No, that's not what I…"

Miyuki grins, leaning forward on the table. "There's nothing to do at home anyway. It's fine to kill some time here."

Furuya pauses. "Do you live alone?"

"With my old man," Miyuki answers a little flippantly. "But we don't talk much," and then he adds, "Your face is much nicer to look at than his, anyway."

"…I see," Furuya says eventually in reply with no expression that Miyuki can tell is a reaction to his last line. "You can come here whenever you want, Miyuki-san."

Miyuki blinks. He isn't sure if Furuya is…responding…to that line he just said, or did Furuya read his strained relationship with his father from his two sentences and is offering something much more innocent? Miyuki will never know, because at that moment the front door bursts open and a heavy weight crashes into his back, causing him to lurch forward onto the table.

" _You brat_ —" Miyuki starts when Eijun grins up at him, mouth open to holler.

"Miyuki Kazuya!"

"What is it?" he sighs.

Eijun waves his clutched hand with a dirty baseball in it. "Let's play catch!"

"Hah? What time is it already?"

"But you never have time during the day!" the child pouts. "You promised last week! Harucchi is waiting! _Miyuki Kazuya_ —" Ejiun starts on a loud whine, and Miyuki groans into his hand.

He only promised that because Eijun wouldn't leave him alone and had followed him all the way to his house last week when he was back from sea. He glances outside and roughly gauges that it's about an hour more before the sun fully sets.

"Okay, okay," he acquiesces, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He can do one hour to fulfil this promise that Eijun will most likely never let him forget.

"Sensei, play with us!"

Miyuki hides his grin as Furuya shoots his gaze to him in a panic from the sudden focus Eijun turns to the other. He can see how Fuurya fumbles mentally for an excuse that the little boy will accept—ha, he's still got ways to go in dealing with the village kids.

"Let him eat. And rest," Miyuki flicks the tip of Eijun's nose, narrowing his eyes in a mock glare. "Don't think I won't tell Chris-san about what you did to his clothes today."

Eijun widens his eyes. "But—"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Furuya," Miyuki winks, grabbing Eijun's arm and pushing the child lightly towards the dirt path.

"Ah, okay," Furuya mumbles at the empty space in front of his door after the other two leave.

It takes a minute more before Furuya realises he hasn't swallowed his last mouthful, so he does with great difficulty, and puts his chopsticks down after. The smile across Miyuki's lips before the other had left keeps flashing across his mind. It takes a couple more seconds to realise that his heart is beating incredibly fast.

It's…the heat….or…

He swallows again, throat tight.

…Oh.

* * *

It's vexing.

Kuramochi had called him to ask if he wanted to submit a piece for a calligraphy contest, but he couldn't bring himself to say yes. He hasn't progressed in his personal writing _at all_ —he's been experimenting with different styles late into the night, but nothing hits him like its _right_. It's always too perfect, too _dull_ , or too messy and wild and not _his_. And without calligraphy, he doesn't have anything of value to offer.

Maybe this is the price he has to pay for coming to the village where everyone is so nice and warm to him. Where he has taken days off sitting at the rocky beach and staring at the sea while Eijun and Harucchi play in the water, or those nights when the village elders invite him to drink and eat nabe. Or maybe for those times when Miyuki comes over with _that_ smile and mischievous eyes, and the hot bowl of kanitama.

He's never been so distracted back in Tokyo.

Furuya steels his jaw and tries to focus on the next stroke that he wants to paint, but before his brush hits the paper, Eijun crashes straight past his (locked?) front door.

"Sensei!"

"I'm not in the mood," Furuya says plainly, closing his eyes.

It must've been the dark gloom of his aura, because Eijun actually pauses at tilts his head at him. "Sensei, are you having fun right now?"

Furuya looks at his half written kanji. "Not really."

"Because if you ain't, then let's go play!"

"…"

There _is_ some wisdom in that, but it's precisely all these things that are keeping his focus away from calligraphy. Nonetheless, Eijun keep smiling brightly at him.

"…Why are you holding a plastic bag?" he asks instead.

Eijun waves the grocery bag he has with two hands in the air. "Mochi-picking! Let's go!"

There isn't much he can do to protest when Eijun grabs his hand and pulls him straight out of the house, him stumbling before he finds his feet and reluctantly walks behind the active child. As he walks, he notices the other villagers walking in the same direction as they are, all of them with empty grocery bags in hand.

"Mochi pickings?"

"You don't know what that is?" Eijun crows, jumping happily. "Yup, you're a stranger."

Furuya keeps silent.

"After building a house, it's tradition to toss mochi," an airy voice speaks up from behind him. "Though, in today's case, it's for a boat. Jun-san bought one recently."

Furuya blinks when Miyuki comes up into view next to him, the other's grin relaxed. Miyuki isn't wearing his normal spectacles, instead, a transparent pair of sport glasses and also a baseball mitt in one hand.

"Miyuki-san," he greets. "Why are you wearing that?"

"This?" Miyuki asks, noticing his curious stare at the catcher's mitt. "I'm good at catching things, just so you know," he smirks.

"I'm gonna pick a bunch!" Eijun declares before he spots Harucchi and his family in the distance. "Harucchi! Onii-san!"

"You're late, sensei," Ryo-san gives Furuya a smile when they arrive by the bay. "Miyuki."

Miyuki shifts subtly beside him, though he doesn't know why. There isn't time to think about that as more of the other villagers crowd around in excitement.

Yuki gives them a wave from where he is. "Get ready, they're about to start throwing," he warns.

Furuya looks up at the new boat sitting in the sea, where the blonde haired man with the scruff who had patted his shoulder the other day is on it grinning and yelling to some people. _Sawako_ in kanji is printed at the hull.

"It's actually good luck to name a boat after the eldest daughter of the family," Miyuki explains. "But Jun-san isn't married, so…it's from a shoujo manga."

"I see," Furuya says, though he doesn't really.

"We're picking!" Eijun shouts loud enough for everyone to hear, and excited yells sound all around with determined fists in the air.

Furuya looks around warily. "Um, I'm picking too?"

"Of course," Miyuki grins, patting his back once. "Don't be afraid. Oh, watch out for Chris-san—he's not as nice as he seems."

"We're throwing! Get set!" Jun raises a bag full of mochi from the top of the boat. "GO!"

Furuya takes a step back when the villagers immediately jump forward, shoving and pushing. Within seconds he's being shoved to the back, with no chance to pick any mochi. From a corner of his eye he sees one flying towards his direction, but before he can raise his hands to catch it, Chris appears like lightning before him and snatches it clean out of the air. Eijun yells in delight and Chris turns to nod at him for a second before disappearing into the crowd again—but it doesn't change the fact that his mochi is stolen.

Furuya sighs, gritting his teeth before forcing himself to push a little into the mass of bodies in front, trying to snatch some mochi. Once, his hand connects with another hand, and when he looks up, Ryo-san is giving him a particular smile, to which he unconsciously backs off immediately. At this rate he won't even pick one—unlike Matsuko, another one of the village elders, who's already chewing on a mochi whilst grabbing more out from the air.

Less mochi is being thrown as the minutes tick by, and he's still empty handed. Finally another flies in straight in his direction, and his arm is raised at the right angle to catch it—but a shadow falls over him and the next thing he knows, he's on the ground with a heavy weight on him.

"Oops," Miyuki glances down with an amused grin. "You okay?"

Furuya pulls himself up, but he continues to sit on the ground, resigned.

Miyuki takes one look at his empty hands and pockets and laughs. "You're so slow. Go at it with your usual strength, Furuya."

But he's so bad at this, isn't he?

"I don't think it's enough," Furuya says truthfully.

Like his calligraphy…

Miyuki pauses, eyeing the depressed calligraphist. "…It's not good if you're always looking up," he says eventually, picking at his mitt. "Wait patiently, and take it once it hits the ground. You'll find a mess of opportunities fallen below," he glances over. "They're not many left now, but you should keep trying."

Mochi that's on the floor, why hasn't Furuya noticed this until now? He blinks up at Miyuki who's smiling at him gently, and all of a sudden he realises he doesn't hear the yells and shouts in the background, nor does he see everyone else around, but just _Miyuki_ standing there and giving him an encouraging nod.

Eijun screams from a distance. "Sensei! Hurry, before they're all gone!"

"Okay," Furuya says, pushing himself up.

Miyuki disappears into the crowd and Furuya dives in after him, determined. He gets shoved and pushed but he tries to grasp for the mochi before they get quickly snatched up. At the end of it, Eijun trots over to him with a full bag in hand.

"Sensei, how many did you pick?"

Miyuki is behind them, sniggering into his palm. "He didn't even get one."

"I picked a whole twenty eight!" Eijun continues, bright. "Harucchi, how many did you get?"

Harucchi shys closer when Eijun pulls him by the arm. "Thirty one."

"Meanwhile, the grown man got zero…" Miyuki sings, shaking his head.

Furuya sours, looking at his feet. Harucchi tugs at his pant legs as they walk home. The young child holds up one mochi for him. Furuya stares at it for a moment before placing one gentle hand on Harucchi's head and shaking his own in reply.

"I did pick one," Furuya says quietly, looking at Miyuki. "You stole it from me."

"Oh?" Miyuki teases, his large bag of mochi slung casually over his shoulders. "I never took you to be a sore loser."

"Am not."

"You totally are," Miyuki laughs, grinning at the disgruntled expression on the other.

When they reach Furuya's house, a pot sits in front of his door. Furuya bends down to lift the lid curiously—a thick sweet smell of red bean curls pleasantly up his nose. It's red bean and mochi soup.

"Ah, that must be Nori," Miyuki peers at it. "He makes that for people who can't come to the pickings."

Furuya feels his heart warm up again, just like the first night that he moved to this village. Even if he didn't get any mochi today with the ever looming stress of his incapability to write anything good—it was fun today. Eijun squeals and laughs with Harucchi as they chase each other down the dirt path.

"See you tomorrow, sensei!" echoes back towards Furuya.

Miyuki throws an exasperated look after the two kids. "Hey, you're not supposed to run off without me!" He clucks his tongue before sighing. "Furuya," he begins, turning his attention back to the calligraphist for a moment. "Here."

Furuya stretches out his palm when Miyuki holds something towards him. It's cold and soft.

It's mochi.

"It's the one I stole from you."

Furuya looks up to meet Miyuki's eyes, taking the mochi gently with his heart pounding quick. His lips part.

"Miyuki-san..."

"Hmm?"

Furuya doesn't really know what he wants to say, so he settles for the usual. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Miyuki's lips curve into a smirk, and one hand reaches up to pat his head.

Furuya blinks, surprised at the action and at the feeling of the warm hand caressing the locks of his hair. His face flushes faintly pink involuntarily, stunned. Miyuki stares at the sight, breath caught in his throat—he isn't sure if he's really seeing this or it's his imagination, but _fuck_ , it's the cutest thing he's ever seen.

He wets his lips, entranced.

" _Miyuki Kazuya!_ You're so slow!"

Miyuki snatches his hand back, suddenly realising where he is. He curses Eijun inwardly all while keeping a carefully placed smile.

"See ya," he says as casually as he can and takes his leave, not daring to look back once.

…He's so fucked.

* * *

It's on a hot and sunny day—most days were hot and sunny, true—but it's one particular day that Furuya sits by his door with the door open to invite any kind of breeze in it, with the electric fan blowing into his back. It's way too hot to do any sort of work including calligraphy, though the hyper ball of Eijun doodling with his brush might beg to differ. He's definitely on the way to a heat stroke, which is why he blinks, and blinks again when he sees Miyuki peering down at him, looking concerned.

"Miyuki Kazuya!" Eijun shouts and clambers on his back, and yeah, the Miyuki standing in front of him is definitely not a hallucination.

"Hey, are you okay?" Miyuki asks, placing down a basket of vegetables looking fresh from the fields to look at him better.

"It's—hot," Furuya shakes his head, finding his mouth suddenly hard to move.

There's no reason why Miyuki is _topless_ with sweat glistening in the harsh sunlight standing at his front door.

"Yeah, I think I got a sunburn on my back, but it's way too hot to harvest with a shirt," Miyuki continues, oblivious to his internal confusion. "Ugh, Chris-san really knows how to pick his favours."

"Miyuki-san," Furuya opens his mouth before he realises what he's saying. "Do you want to come in—for a drink. Of water. Because y—it's hot. Outside."

Miyuki blinks but his expression relaxes into an attractive pleasantly surprised smirk quickly. "Sure."

Miyuki sighs in relief when he finally lounges next to Furuya, sipping ice cold water. Eijun climbs onto his lap, trying to snatch the glass of water from him.

"Pour yourself your own glass," Miyuki grumbles, but he lets the child take a mouthful.

"You're sticky," Eijun comments, pressing his tiny palms on his bare sweaty skin.

Miyuki shudders at the prick of pain from the contact. Shit, the sunburn feels bad. "Oi, don't do that."

But of course Eijun continues to do it, which makes his eyebrow twitch. He makes a swipe at the child, but Eijun laughs and dodges his attempts to catch him by the scruff of the neck. Miyuki glances over to see Furuya's eyelids sliding shut and nodding off as the other leans against the side of the doorframe, looking worn out.

"Hey, Eijun, wanna play a game?" he lowers his voice, like he has a secret to share.

As predicted, the boy takes the bait. "What game?"

"A treasure hunt. See, I have some…special items hidden in the trees on the road towards your house," Miyuki continues, sounding dire and serious. "But only if you collect them all, then you can win a prize."

"What prize?"

"A _very_ special prize," he whispers. "I don't want to say it since it'll spoil the surprise. You have two hours," he declares, tone back to normal. "Ready, get set—"

"Wait— _Miyuki Kazuya_ —"

"—Go!"

Maybe it's by the pure adrenaline of the flow of Miyuki's words, but Eijun yelps and dashes down the dirt path, heading towards the road that leads to his house. Once the child is out of earshot, Miyuki sniggers, finally relaxing in the peace and quiet. He stops when he realises Furuya is staring at him in awe.

"It's not that hard to handle him when you know how he thinks," Miyuki says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Even if he _does_ like Furuya looking at him, the kind of staring Furuya is doing now makes him feel rather self-conscious, like he's suddenly out of his depth for no particular reason. He glances around to search for a diversion.

"What's this?" he asks as he cocks his head toward a stack of calligraphy papers in the corner.

"Work," Furuya replies.

The phrases all read weirdly, until Miyuki realises they are movie titles. Huh, so this is the type of work a calligrapher does.

"Hmm, your writing is really pretty," he hums, squinting at a particularly dubious title. "It suits you, somehow."

"…You don't think it's boring?"

"Huh?"

Furuya is suddenly behind him, a little too close. "Like a copybook," the other adds.

Miyuki shifts subtly for a little more space before he forgets to breathe. "That may be so," he glances at the writing again, thinking. "…But I wouldn't say it's boring. If it is, people wouldn't like your writing, would they?"

Furuya swallows.

"Well, I couldn't write like this in a million years," Miyuki says with a wry twist to his lips. "I don't have your talent after all."

"…Talent."

Miyuki blinks at the soft murmur from Furuya, furrowing his eyebrows. "…Did I say something wrong?" he pauses, aware that the air has gone very, very still.

Furuya looks at him with an expression that he cannot describe and Miyuki swallows faintly, wondering _how_ it has led to this moment where it feels so _fragile_ and intimate between them. He just said a few words about Furuya's writing, he didn't say anything…anything, well, terrible, did he? This is definitely something he hasn't calculated for, especially not for the way Furuya gently takes his hand into his.

 _Fuck, what is going on_? Miyuki stares back, eyes wide.

"You can," Furuya says, and Miyuki blinks.

"W-what?"

"You can. Write like this. I can teach you," Furuya clarifies.

Before Miyuki knows it, he's sitting with the low table in front of him and Furuya's hand his curled around his while he holds the brush in his right hand, poised over a clean sheet of paper.

"Uh—"

Furuya's hand is bigger than his, also so much paler and softer and Miyuki drags his gaze away and plants them forcefully onto the paper where Furuya moves his hand to show him how to write a stroke. It comes out neat and beautiful. Furuya lets go and nods at him after. Miyuki sighs and writes a kanji for the hell of it—it's a good effort, though crooked.

"I told you."

"You just need to practice."

Miyuki chuckles. "Even if I did, I wouldn't write like you do," he says, trying to distract his mind from their extremely close proximity.

"Why not?"

"I'm no expert but it's the way _you_ write, isn't it?" Miyuki raises his eyebrow. "Your style."

Furuya looks at him again with that same indiscernible expression, and hours later in the wee hours of the morning Miyuki groans while he tosses in bed trying to sleep—he's never going to get the image of those shimmering blue eyes staring straight into his heart out.

Ever.

* * *

"Are you still alive?" Kuramochi asks when Furuya finally answers his phone, having trouble with a dead battery until Kuramochi mailed a new one to him.

"Yes," Furuya answers.

"Good," Kuramochi says, sounding exasperated. "When are you going to come back from Tokyo?"

"Why do I need to go back?"

"Well, you don't _need_ to, but there's no reason for you to be away from Tokyo. Your calligraphy is fine, Furuya," Kuramochi sighs. "The director was just saying that because you're young and he doesn't want you to grow an ego, you know? You take things too sensitively, sometimes."

Furuya keeps quiet.

"So? Have you found whatever you're looking for in that island of yours?"

"…Not yet," Furuya says, because he isn't sure.

"Okay. Do you think you can participate in the Naruka Institute Calligraphy Exhibition? It's in two months."

"I…think so."

"You think?" Kuramochi growls, and Furuya presses his lips together.

"I will. Please order the writing equipment I'm about to describe."

"That's what I want to hear," Kuramochi snorts, though his tone is fond as he scribbles down the list Furuya intones. "You've got something in mind already?"

"No."

"Hm. Okay. I'm sure you'll think of something. Well, give me call if your stuff doesn't arrive by the end of the week. And don't you dare get heatstroke and get hospitalised, you hear?"

"Yes, senpai," Furuya nods, and Kuramochi ends the call with a pleased grunt.

It's been a month since he's had that conversation, but his paper is still blank. Although Kuramochi assures him that his calligraphy is fine, but now it's moreover on _what_ to write. It's going to be his first submission since half a year when he tore his piece from the exhibition board. He has to write something that feels worthy of a new and improved Furuya Satoru and of the things he's learned since he left Tokyo.

Miyuki notices his agitation when the other brings food over for dinner and finds the calligraphist painting scarily perfect circle shapes on paper in distress.

"You can't force inspiration when you don't have any," Miyuki says in a half laugh.

"I tried to make some," Furuya mutters, slumped on the table.

"And?"

Furuya holds out the paper with circles towards him.

"What's that supposed to be? Crop circles?"

"Bowls," Furuya replies. "Of konomon."

Miyuki bursts into flat out laughter. Pickled vegetables can be pretty much an addiction here.

"Ryo-san gave you some of that, didn't he?"

Furuya doesn't deny it. "Miyuki-san, do you have any?"

"You're not even trying to stop eating it, are you," Miyuki shakes his head, grinning. "I _do_ have some, but it's not going to be for free."

Furuya sits up immediately. "Then, what do you want for it?"

Miyuki hums, purposely thinking slow. "Come and drink with me at the gathering tonight," he says. "I don't think I can take another shogi game with Testu-san…" he mutters to himself.

Furuya has been to a couple of these 'gatherings', though he declines to drink because he wants to stay up to practice his calligraphy after. Most of the time he sits and nods at the raucous laughter and rowdy stories tossed around by the village elders.

It's an…experience.

"Okay."

Miyuki is a little surprised at the quick agreement, but then Furuya looks at him expectantly.

"I'll bring your konomon tomorrow," he smirks. "Come on. Eat up and let's go."

* * *

As Miyuki learns, it's probably the best and worst idea to make Furuya drink. He escapes the shoji game with Tetsu, but only because he lathers on the thick excuse of accompanying Furuya to drink a couple of rounds. Ryo-san smiles plainly at him, and Miyuki shudders. He totally catches the same smile directed at everyone else who starts to give him the same _look_ back. Luckily Furuya is too busy sniffing at the various sake bottles on display in curiosity to notice. He hopes.

Furuya gets made to sit between Chris and Miyuki in a circle with a few other villagers as small sake cups gets passed around. Conservations between the others easily follows, and Furuya looks at his cup, feeling a little awkward. Miyuki nudges his side.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," Miyuki says, knocking back one cup. "They talk enough for everyone, anyway. Just relax. And drink."

Furuya looks at his cup again, and takes his first swallow.

It's a little of a blur after, though he vaguely notices that Miyuki doesn't join the conversation either, only either laughing at someone else's story, or drinking the sake in hand. The alcohol warms his body right up to the tips of his ears. It's not uncomfortable like a heatstroke, but something deep seated and makes him feel sleepy and a little happy.

He dazedly thinks of Miyuki on that hot day standing in front of his door, shirtless, with that—wait.

That _is_ his front door.

"Yes, that is your door," Miyuki's breathy laugh is way too close to his ear. "How drunk are you?"

Furuya mumbles something indecipherable. His head spins when he looks at his feet, taking much longer than usual to realise that Miyuki is holding him up by the side.

"Can you make it to your own room or do you need me to carry you in?" Miyuki teases. "Ah, maybe I shouldn't have made you drink so much. Sorry about the hangover tomorrow," he says, though he doesn't sound very sorry.

Furuya shakes his head, stumbling a little when he carefully extracts himself from Miyuki who has a red alcohol flush on his cheeks, but the other's eyes are still bright and sharp. Like the stars.

"Miyuki-san," he says, tongue loose. "I—I like you. With me. Thank you for being here."

Blood abruptly freezes in Miyuki's veins.

"Uh, um," Miyuki swallows thickly, unsure of what Furuya is really saying. "Um…Sure….?"

Furuya nods at him and stumbles again when he moves to enter his house, and Miyuki lets him go, hands frozen at his sides.

What.

 _What_.

* * *

"Matsuri! Matsuri!"

Furuya ignores the excited boy running around his house as he concentrates on tying the obi on Harucchi's yukata.

"Come on, sensei! Hurry!" Eijun whines, shaking his arm.

"Please wait for a bit more," Furuya sighs, adjusting the last length of the fabric.

He's good at affixing traditional clothes since his household is rather traditional, which might be why he ended up with dressing the kids duty for the event. But he's not complaining because he hasn't…actually been to a festival before—there was always a calligraphy exhibition he had to attend or had to stay home and practice for one. But this time he gets to go, even if he has nothing for the exhibition deadline that's in two weeks; Furuya pushes that to the corner of his mind. Miyuki-san is right, inspiration can't be forced. But Kuramochi might yell at him otherwise if he really doesn't write anything. Nonetheless, he affixes his own attire, a dark blue piece, as the children pace impatiently around him. When they finally get there in the late afternoon, the stalls are already getting crowded.

"Sensei! Goldfish, it's goldfish!"

He increases his pace after Eijun and Harucchi who are already a distance in front of him. "Don't run too far," he warns them, but his words are probably ignored.

"Oh, sensei," Jun greets him gruffly, sitting on the inside of the goldfish scooping stall. "It's one hundred yen per try."

Furuya looks at the fishes in the tub and back at Eijun and Harucchi, who squats and gives him the widest eyed expectant look ever. He guesses Harucchi's eyes are wide too, though he can't tell with the fringe. He digs for a coin and hands it over, taking the paper scoop he's handed warily. It looks so flimsy—can this really be done?

"Do your best sensei!"

Furuya slowly dips the scoop into the water, and when a goldfish swims into close enough proximity, he flicks his wrists up. Nothing comes up except the soggy broken pieces of the paper scoop.

"You're bad at this, sensei," Eijun says bluntly.

Furuya glooms. "One more," he demands, picking out another coin.

His next try isn't any more successful. A familiar laugh sounds beside him and he startles, embarrassed to see Miyuki squatting and looking at him with mirth. The tips of his ears burn red.

"Move aside for a moment," Miyuki says to him, handing a coin to Jun.

Miyuki narrows his eyes and goes in for a quick swipe—his arm movement is so fast that Furuya doesn't even see it.

"Ah, fuck," Miyuki coughs when his paper scoop comes up equally empty and broken.

Jun roars with laughter, slapping his thigh. "Ryosuke _was_ right, I thought he was fuckin' with me, but—"

Furuya gives a concerned glance to the two children also laughing their pants off at Miyuki's failure, unsure if the swearing is an acceptable thing for them to hear.

"Jun-san!" Miyuki hisses, face slightly red. "I wasn't—wasn't—"

"For your _effort_ , you can have one free try," Jun says, coughing and trying to clear his throat, highly amused. "Go on, _Miyuki-san_."

Miyuki glares at Jun cold enough to make the other clamp shut the next chuckle that was about to spill, snatching the offered scoop. To his credit, he does catch a fish this time, to which Jun puts in a plastic bag half filled with water and blows it up for him.

"Have fun with sensei, Miyuki," Jun says, smirk in place.

Furuya bows shortly before Miyuki drags him away after grabbing his goldfish.

"Miyuki Kazuya! Where are you bringing, sensei?!" Eijun yells after them, sounding scandalised that they would leave him and Harucchi behind.

Miyuki sighs and takes a very deep breath to collect himself, letting the two kids catch up to them in the meantime.

"Miyuki-san," Furuya says quietly. "Is something wrong?"

"No—no," Miyuki manages. "It's fine. I'm a bit hungry," he says instead. "What do you feel like eating?"

"Yakisoba!"

"Takoyaki."

"I wasn't asking you kids," Miyuki snorts towards the two clinging to his pants.

"Cotton candy," Furuya says, and Miyuki blinks. "I've…never eaten it before," he admits softly.

"…Are you serious," Miyuki gapes, staring at him. "You've never…—wait, they _do_ have it in Tokyo, right?"

"I never had time to go to a matsuri," Furuya explains.

"Well, even so…" Miyuki trails off, scratching the back of his head. "….Ah, this is just too depressing, I can't believe you," he mutters, walking off in a particular direction.

Furuya follows behind him and the other stops by a food stall. He gets handed a large ball of pink fluff on a stick several minutes later.

"Here," Miyuki says. "Eat it."

"I want one too!" Eijun interjects, jumping up to try and pick off a piece of the candy, but Furuya holds it up high protectively. " _Miyuki Kazuya—"_

"Don't assume all grown-ups have money!" Miyuki huffs.

"Cheapskate!" Eijun pouts, but Miyuki eventually does buy more to the children's delight.

Furuya looks at his cotton candy, unsure of how to bite into it when he notices Miyuki just standing there looking at him in amusement.

"Miyuki-san, you're not having any?"

"Hmm? Miyuki grins. "I'm going for the candied apple, but I'll take a bite."

Furuya hasn't really processed that statement when Miyuki steps up towards him and licks at a small corner of his cotton candy, curling it over his tongue before he takes a proper bite from the whole thing.

"Shit, it's sticker than I thought," Miyuki mutters, thumbing the edge of his lip and sucking on the digit with an obscene sound after. "…Furuya? What are you looking at?"

Furuya blinks rapidly, and then shakes his head in reply. Miyuki gives him a questioning glance before he cocks his head.

"The candied apple store is that way. Kids, come on. Don't get lost."

Eijun's mouth is too full to reply, but the boy tugs Harucchi along by the hand to trot after Miyuki, who walks ahead with a sly smirk on his lips.

* * *

They play a few more games at more stalls—or rather, Eijun and Harucchi plays the games while Miyuki occasionally teases them on their losses, and they also watch drum and dance performances whilst eating other types of street food. Furuya discovers that he really likes the shaved ice and syrup, the cool dessert a welcome treat in this heat. Close to nine at night, Eijun and Harucchi pull Furuya by his yukata towards the beach, away from the artificial lights of the matsuri.

"Hurry, it's going to start! Sensei, you're so slow!"

"Oi, don't trip him!" Miyuki calls after them, but he doesn't do anything to stop them either.

The two kids drag Furuya to one of the breakwaters on the coast, jumping up and down excitedly. When Miyuki reaches them, Furuya has resigned himself to sit on one of the larger rocks at the bottom, while the other two are halfway climbing up the breakwater. Miyuki hides his grin at look on Furuya's face—the calligraphist certainly has warmed up to the children over the months, but it seemed like the balls of high energy drained a lot from him.

Miyuki chooses to lean against the rocks, looking at the sky. Anytime now.

"I have something to say," Furuya says abruptly.

Eijun pokes his head down curiously. "Sensei, speak louder!"

Furuya opens his mouth to continue, but at the same moment a screech dawns from the sky, and all of their attentions are caught by the fireworks which blow up prettily in the dark night. Cheers sound from a distance, with excited squealing from up where Eijun and Harucchi are.

"It's so bright!"

"Amazing, it's so cool, Harucchi!"

Miyuki smiles at the bright lights, but he glances back at the calligraphist curiously.

"Hey—" he starts, but he sees that Furuya is staring wide eyed at the sky, like the other has never seen fireworks in his life.

Maybe he hasn't, not with the child-like gaze of wonder glimmering in those blue eyes and lips parted in amazement. Miyuki swallows back the question that he intended to ask, and turns his attention back to the sky.

* * *

"Oh. You're early," Kuramochi says when Furuya knocks on his office door.

Furuya tugs at the uncomfortable tie he has to wear with his format suit whenever he visits Kuramochi's office in central Tokyo. "Did you receive it?"

"Just did," Kuramochi nods, gesturing him in. "As huge as it is, it sure looks grand," he comments, tilting his head at the calligraphy piece Furuya had sent just before the other took his flight to Tokyo.

花火 are the characters painted large, a piece that Furuya had spent the entire night after the matsuri. He had feelings churning inside like they were going to burst forth if he didn't seal them on paper, and he channelled them with rough broad strokes, drawing and drawing till it felt like it captured what he had seen in the sky.

"…Does that mean it's not grand if it was small?"

"I didn't say that," Kuramochi rolls his eyes.

"Senpai—" Furuya starts, voice with an edge of agitation.

"Calm down," Kuramochi says, gripping him by the shoulder. "Furuya. It's good calligraphy. Very bold and eye-catching."

"But, will you be able to tell that it's me?" Furuya presses.

"Hmmm…I never would've imagined you writing anything like this before, but—"

Furuya steels his gaze, resolute. "Then, I'm not submitting this."

"Oi, Furuya!" Kuramochi groans. "The deadline is _one_ week!"

"But it's not—" good enough? "— _me_ ," Furuya says, lowering his eyes. "I'm not. Like that. I. I can't—write like this. Again. It's just this piece, with the fireworks that I…"

Kuramochi looks at him like he wants to strangle him, but with deep breaths the other pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Okay," Kuramochi starts gently. "Why don't you go home for a bit. Get used to life outside the island, eh? I'll come by in a couple of days to see how you're doing."

Furuya nods.

That's about exactly three days ago when Kuramochi had this conversation—he's still in favour about submitting the piece Furuya's already wrote, but he knows that the calligraphist will lose every respect for him if he does against the other's will. When he comes by the Furuya household, Furuya's mother greets him in delight.

"Youichi-kun, it's been a while."

Kuramochi smiles. "You look well, Furuya-san. This is for you," he says, lifting up a wrapped box of mochi.

Furuya's mother pats him warmly on the cheek. "Please talk to Sacchan, will you?" she sighs. "He doesn't want to come out from his room."

"Of course," he replies, already getting a bad feeling.

When he finally reaches the right part of the living compound, he raps the door loudly. Damn, even if Furuya wasn't earning good money like a critically acclaimed calligraphist, his family is still pretty damn rich. There's no response to his call, but Kuramochi slides the door open anyway. The floor is just littered with calligraphy writing, but more importantly, Furuya is nowhere to be seen. And then he spots Furuya sitting with his knees up in a far corner, looking more depressed than ever.

"Kuramochi-senpai," Furuya lifts his head when Kuramochi steps in with a raised eyebrow.

"What are you doing?"

"It's not the same," Furuya nods towards the floor.

Kuramochi picks one off curiously to look at it. Furuya has tried to write 花火 again, but this time in his neater, more recognisable style, but perhaps framed with the much smaller paper size, "…It kinda looks like a grade school assignment."

Furuya glooms darker at his comment, slinking back into his ball.

"Oi, Furuya," Kuramochi groans, standing up to toe at him. "If you don't want to submit the one you already wrote, please write _something_. There isn't time anymore."

"…I can't find anything I want to write," Furuya mumbles.

Kuramochi squats down, eyeing him flatly. "What did you even gain when you went to the island?" he sighs. "You're in a worse state than before."

"That's not—" Furuya starts, voice arising suddenly before he catches himself. "…true."

Kuramochi stares at him and he looks away, intimidated by the older man.

"…Your heart isn't here at all, is it," Kuramochi says finally. "I knew it was a bad idea to let you go," he groans into his hands. "Okay. What's the number?"

Furuya blinks at him in confusion.

"Number," Kuramochi repeats impatiently, "Of someone you know back in the island. You—you look homesick. If you talk to someone there, you should feel better."

"I—" Furuya begins, ducking his head down. "...okay."

He doesn't know why it actually never crosses his mind to do this, especially when all he's ever thought about when he left the island is to go back again. It feels weird in Tokyo now, with too loud traffic and the lack of open air, with no village elders dropping by to greet him or children to follow him around. Or Miyuki-san to bring him food and to laugh at the children's antics.

His hand fumbles with his phone, scrolling to the most familiar name and presses it. It barely takes three rings before it's answered.

" _Furuya,"_ Miyuki says, voice pleasant in his ear. _"What's up?"_

Furuya nearly drops the phone if not for his hand gripping it tighter. "I…—"

" _Oi—hey—don't pull that—"_ Miyuki's voice sounds strangled before a much younger and louder but just as familiar one replaces it.

" _Sensei? Is that you, sensei?! It's boring without you, sensei! Come home real soon, okay?"_

Furuya swallows at the warmth brimming up inside of him as more voices sound in the background.

" _Hey, Eijun, don't hog the phone! I've got a few words for sensei!"_

" _Sensei?"_

" _Sensei! Let me talk to him too!"_

" _Yeah, someone better tell him that Miyuki is—"_

" _Sensei, are you doing good!?"_

" _Tch, hello?"_ It's Miyuki's voice again, though it sounds as though the phone is on speaker to nullify the argument on the other side. _"Furuya, just so you know, since you left without saying anything, it's been—"_

" _Sensei! We're waiting for you!"_ Eijun hollers, and Miyuki groans audibly. _"Give me back my phone! And all of you—stop—giving me that—"_

"Miyuki-san," Furuya says, without really thinking too much about it. "I miss you."

There is a clear slate of silence, especially in comparison to how noisy it was before, so much that Furuya abruptly remembers that he's on the phone with Kuramochi across him staring with the other's mouth gape.

"… _Um,"_ Miyuki swallows, sounding winded. "… _That's. Yeah. I…—stop laughing! Fuck—_ "

Badly muffled giggling on the other end quickly rises up to full blown chortling, and some kind of mixed arguing and wrestling seems to happen before Miyuki speaks again, this time with no background noise.

" _Furuya,"_ Miyuki starts. _"I don't think you called me just to tell everyone that."_

"No," Furuya agrees, prodding the toes of his feet. "I need to write, but I can't do it," he admits.

"… _Hey,"_ Miyuki begins after a while, tone gentle. _"Have more confidence in yourself. Your writing is beautiful, Furuya,"_ a hesitant pause. _"…Like you are."_

Kuramochi chokes loudly, saliva lodged in his throat. Furuya hides his face into his knees, pressing his phone closer to his ear.

" _..Someone else heard that, didn't they,"_ Miyuki says dryly.

"…Yes."

Miyuki sighs. _"Well, you think you can do it?"_

Furuya breathes out very slowly with his eyes closed. He nods, even if Miyuki can't see it. "Thank you, Miyuki-san."

Miyuki hums, satisfied. " _Good._ _When you come back, I want to claim all the favours you owe me."_

"Okay."

When Furuya finally lowers the phone from his ear, Kuramochi immediately snatches it from his fingers, staring pointedly at the name of the contact with an incredulous pull of his eyebrows.

"Who. The _hell_ was that?!"

* * *

This time when Furuya lands at the Fukue airport, there is _one_ person waiting for him at the arrivals instead of his initial zero.

"Eijun and Harucchi wanted to be here," Miyuki says with a shrug, though there seems to be a story behind that. "But they're in Chris-san's car outside," he continues, gesturing Furuya to stroll with him slowly towards the exit. "So, what did you write in the end?"

"It's about what's most important to me right now," Furuya answers, turning his head to meet Miyuki's eyes. "Miyuki-san. You are. Important to me."

Miyuki just stops flat in his steps, coughing to clear his throat. "…I kind of got that," he manages eventually, face involuntarily heating up.

Fuck, this boy is so dangerous.

"Furuya," he begins, darting a gaze around—it's empty, of course it is, Chris even purposely _makes_ it empty for him.

He reaches up towards Furuya's collar, playing with it over his fingers for a short moment before he tugs the other down. Furuya breathes very lightly between them when he pulls back from the kiss, the calligraphist cheeks a faint pink complimenting a shy gaze. Furuya is so innocent and cute, _fuck_ , he doesn't think he can hold back any longer.

"I want to do _terrible_ things to you," Miyuki admits in a low whisper, licking his lips.

Furuya's ear tips turn red, and he mumbles quietly, "In return for all the meals…"

Okay, maybe not as innocent as Miyuki thought, his mouth rapidly evaporating dry. He grabs Furuya's wrist, and pulls him home.

* * *

 **Fin.**

* * *

End notes:

Age-gauge:  
Furuya—23  
Miyuki, Kuramochi, Nori—25  
Maezono—26  
Ryo-san—27  
Chris, Tetsu, Jun—28, 29ish

Few things that I wanted to put across that I (may have) failed:

1) Furuya has a bit of a low self-esteem with regards to his personality and not having a lot of friends when he was younger because other kids have complained that he's too quiet and boring and dull, which hits a sore mark when the director says that in relation to his calligraphy.

2) Miyuki has a crush first. Finally an AU which he does. FINALLY. There was a weird kind of balance I was trying out, about Miyuki being embarrassed whilst keeping his teasing nature…this was hard…

3) That being said, Furuya is always hard to write, I tried some things with him too…

4) I do believe Miyuki _is_ a kind person when it matters. Furuya isn't wrong about that.

5) There is a betting pool between the village elders on whether Miyuki will ever be honest and actually confess, but of course no one bets their money on him because they know him too well.

6) When Kuramochi visits (if ever) the island, he struggles between shoving Miyuki's face into the dirt and being very attracted to Ryo-san.


End file.
